


she begged, she pleaded, she screamed

by ShutUpZippy (ZippyZapmeister)



Category: Love Live! School Idol Festival (Video Game), Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F, Heavy Angst, Implied Futanari, Maid, Rape/Non-con Elements, Some OOC!Dia, Well. maybe not historical historical but, anyway all aboard the pain train, dont read this if you love dia you wont love her afterwards., pretty far back?, ruby is like 20 years younger than dia here but thats like 99 percent irrelevant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZippyZapmeister/pseuds/ShutUpZippy
Summary: Dia was a nice master.





	she begged, she pleaded, she screamed

**Author's Note:**

> depressed and had an idea that would work as a vent. ran with it and it got me here? wow this is d a r k
> 
> I'm using my ShutUpZippy pseud so all the Bad stuff goes there now i guess, im not even gonna post this to my tumblr... this is experimental and bad and im tired i might just delete this sjcjxnsbfdh

Dia was a nice master.

 

Hanamaru had took the job knowing that the Kurosawa household was always quite loathe to let go of their servants. She was desperate for money, and job security, no matter how dangerous it seemed and how many rumors she heard, was always a good thing. However, it turned out that whatever pre-conceived notion Maru had was wrong. Dia made sure Hanamaru was fed, gave her one of the largest rooms in the mansion, sometimes even smiled when she was in the right mood. After a while, Hanamaru didn’t sleep in fear.

 

The maid outfit that Hanamaru was told to wear was beautiful on her, if Dia’s say was the last word. She found it weird, how much Dia enjoyed that costume of hers, but it wasn’t a problem. After all, Dia was the boss, and if a frilly skirt and some stockings made her happy, then Maru was loathe to reject her.

 

Things were going to turn out well, Maru felt.

* * *

Dia was a tired master.

 

As Hanamaru stood by her desk into the more depressing hours of the night, sometimes she’d see Dia nodding off before she popped her head back up and cursed herself for nearly falling asleep. Sometimes Hanamaru would look down and see that the inky scribbles Dia had left upon her letters were little more than chicken scratch, as if  _ she _ wasn’t even aware of what she was writing anymore. She would tear at her hair and growl in frustration as she grew tired, a sign of weakness. 

 

Maru found herself reaching out to touch her shoulder sometimes, and Dia let her, but otherwise didn’t react. One day, when Maru stopped, Dia asked, “Am I not worth comforting?”

 

After that, it seemed like Hanamaru never left her side at all.

* * *

Dia was a caring master. 

 

“Ruby’s bored again. Send somebody else to get me dinner and go play with her.”

 

Ruby was Dia’s younger sister of only five years old. Dia took control of Ruby along with the family business when their parents passed, but Dia was far too busy to spend time entertaining her, so sometimes Hanamaru’s job description extended to “horsey” or “patient” or, when they played House, “Papa”. Hanamaru hated playing House with Ruby, because it always seemed to end with a freak accident, a car crash, a shooting, a murder.

 

One day, after Ruby grew upset when Hanamaru refused to let Ruby play “Murderers” with her, Hanamaru approached Dia with her worries. Hanamaru had no particular duties at the moment; she stood by Dia’s bedside awaiting commands as Dia read by candlelight. “Kurosawa-sama,” Hanamaru started. “I’m worried about little Ruby.”

 

“Worried? For what?”

 

“She makes me play some really weird games.”

 

“Just play them and move on.”

 

“Today, she said she wanted to play Murderer.” Dia went silent. She didn’t seem surprised, or irritated, or horrified; in fact, she seemed like she had lost all emotion in her face, period. Hanamaru squirmed and continued. “Usually she wants me to play the father, and she plays the mother, and-”

 

“Oh. It’s because of our parents, she...she makes up things, sometimes. They died of illness within a month of each other, but Ruby doesn’t understand. She makes up things. Just tell her no, and if she cries, ignore her.”

 

Hanamaru didn’t want to challenge Dia at all, but she exhaled heavily and said, “The problem runs deeper than that. You really should speak to her. How long has it been since-”

 

“Enough. You’re dismissed for the night.”

 

Hanamaru left with her head hanging low, but when she went into Ruby’s room the next morning, she saw Dia cradling Ruby in her arms, petting her hair and letting her cry into her shoulder.

* * *

Dia was an embarrassing master.

 

“Kurosawa-sama, would you like some more tea, zura?”

 

Hanamaru froze in place, eyes wide with fear. She wasn’t sure how Dia would interpret her little verbal tic, but the idea of getting fired for a thing that she had tried so hard to control was infuriating. However, Dia simply looked up from her desk and repeated, “‘Zura’?”

 

“I-I’m sorry,” Hanamaru said. “It’s just...it’s just a little thing that I did, but I tried to stop as soon as I got this job, but it came back, and-”

 

“It’s cute. Keep doing it. That’s an order.”

 

“Sure...z-zura.”

 

Hanamaru was pink in the face all day long.

* * *

Dia was an indulgent master.

 

She had expensive taste. She loved her silk sheets, her fine jewelry...but most of all, she loved good wine. Actually, all kinds of fine liquor found its way into Dia’s cupboard, then onto a tray, then into her room where she sat waiting, tired and angry about who-knows-what.

 

Hanamaru had never taken Dia to be a chatty drunk, but she was; after a glass or two, she was loosening up, making facial expressions that left no information to be desired. A couple more, she was mumbling and complaining. After that, it was all going downhill, and she was talking and talking and talking until she hit a subject that was too sore for her, a subject that made her lash out in anger or break down into tears. Usually business or her parents, respectively. 

 

Some nights, she was rather lustful instead. Thankfully, it was never anything  _ too _ worrying or out-of-line, but Hanamaru was always...tentative. She tried not to over-serve her master. Sometimes, Dia conceded, mumbling about how she needed to go to bed anyway. Sometimes, she forced Hanamaru to serve her more until she was pink in the face with her eyes half-lidded.

 

“Lift your skirt up,” she’d say, and Maru would comply, turning away from Dia’s hungry gaze as she choked down the tart wine in her glass. “Good...good.” That would mostly be it, unless Dia requested Hanamaru to change her facial expression or the angle of her stance; then she’d send Hanamaru off and pass out on her sheets.

 

On the morning after the first occurrence of such lust, over breakfast, Hanamaru bashfully said, “You...you asked me to lift up my skirt last night, zura.”

 

“Well, did you do it?”

 

“Yes, Kurosawa-sama. A-after all-”

 

“So, what’s the problem?”

 

Hanamaru didn’t even know if there was one.

* * *

Dia was a beautiful master.

 

Her face was stern and almost permanently pulled into a frown, but even the stiff nature of her expression was coldly appealing. Her straight black hair framed her smooth, pale skin, sometimes brushing over her cute beauty mark. Hanamaru had always fancied Dia to be the type with a smile that lit up the room, but instead, it was a small upturn of the lips, a somewhat  _ arrogant _ smirk. It made Maru weak to the knees every time she saw it. It almost felt like she couldn’t even breathe, Dia was so gorgeous. Sometimes, unconsciously, she found herself watching Dia, just gazing upon her and somehow feeling as if she were privileged. Dia was always looking down at her papers, so there was no way she would notice Hanamaru-

 

“Hanamaru?”

 

“Yes, Kurosawa-sama?”

 

“Your eyes are burning a hole in the back of my head.”

 

“Sorry, Kurosawa-sama.”

* * *

Dia was a lonely master.

 

At first, it only showed in her eyes. Hanamaru could see the longing, the dullness, and she felt her own heart ache. Then, Dia became more obvious with it, and Hanamaru felt even worse. The soulful stare at the emptiness of her bed, the bitter isolation as she sipped her tea after Ruby had been handed off to caretakers; it was painstakingly clear that Dia needed someone. Hanamaru wanted to be there for her, but she knew that she was merely a servant, and could never provide the kind of love that Dia would want. 

 

But gosh, did Hanamaru have a lot of love to give. Especially to Dia.

 

“I wonder what’ll happen to this business when I die,” Dia said one day. She had just finished her work for the day, signing letters and proofreading contracts. Hanamaru felt bad, because before, when she was first hired, she wondered if owning a company that specialized in fishing was  _ really _ that taxing. It was. 

 

“That won’t be for a long time, Kurosawa-sama.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Dia said sourly. “My parents thought that, too.”

 

Hanamaru bowed her head. “Sorry, zura.”

 

“Don’t apologize. God, it’s not even that serious, I...I’m sorry.  _ I’m _ sorry, Hanamaru. I just sometimes wonder if anybody will even miss me when I’m gone. If I just  _ went _ right now...well, Ruby is so young, and I hardly even talk to her, so-”

 

“I’ll miss you, zura,” Hanamaru blurted out. 

 

Dia chuckled wryly. “You’ll miss having a fat coinpurse, you mean. Yeah, I bet all the servants in this damn mansion would ‘miss me’.”

 

“No!” Hanamaru was astonished. Did Dia really think that the world came down to greed? Hanamaru, in part, expected nothing less (or maybe, nothing more) from somebody so stoic, but it still hurt to hear. Taking a deep breath and venturing to use Dia’s given name, she said, “Dia-sama, I...I’d miss you, if you...went. I’d cry, too, zura. And Ruby would, too. We love you!”

 

The words were simple, to Hanamaru. A reaffirmation of Dia’s importance; a declaration of care. However, Dia must have seen it as something different. Her eyes darkened, gleaming dangerously in the lamplight. “Don’t say something like that if you don’t mean it.”

 

Hanamaru felt her lips moving on their own, but she didn’t know if she was speaking the truth. “I  _ do _ mean it, Kurosa-”

 

At first, Dia seemed suspicious, wounded. Then, her face twisted into that of someone who didn’t believe...someone who was used to pain and didn’t believe in escaping it. “Then keep calling me Dia-sama. If I mean  _ that _ much to you. You're dismissed, I’m tired.”

 

Hanamaru bowed out, but all night, she wondered if she and Ruby were the only ones who would cry.

* * *

Dia was a gentle master.

 

Hanamaru was rarely on cooking duty, but when Dia’s regular chef fell ill, she was instructed to make stew for dinner. However, the consequences of that decision were instant; as she chopped up carrots, she cut her finger and released a loud yelp. Before she could even think about how much pain she was in, she stumbled away from the counter that she was cutting vegetables on, making sure not to bleed on anything. She held a small rag to it, trying to stop the bleeding, and it slowed after a while...but what a long while that was.

 

Actually, it took so long that Dia came walking in, dressed in formalwear but obviously ready to retire for the evening. She seemed quite miffed, but she saw Hanamaru and rushed over, brow furrowed. “What happened?”

 

“I-I nicked myself when I was cutting the carrots, zura,” Hanamaru said. As Dia took her hand gingerly, she added, “Don’t worry, Dia-sama, I-I didn’t get blood on them-”

 

“Do you think I care? Goodness, you’re bleeding like crazy. I don’t care about carrots. Here, let me put some pressure on it.” Even as Dia pressed down, Maru still barely felt a thing...

 

Save for the warmth coursing through her veins and the shortness of breath as Dia touched her, of course.

* * *

Dia was a silent master.

 

She slipped into Hanamaru’s room as she slept, undetected. Hanamaru didn’t even realize that Dia was in bed next to her until she smelled the tangy sweet stench of wine, wafting up to her nose and making her eyes squinty. Dia was not only stealthy, but just in general not very talkative, which only contributed to her silence. Usually, all she wanted to do when she was drunk was talk, but Hanamaru heard nothing but Dia’s heavy breaths on her ear.

 

Part of Maru didn’t speak out of fear; the other part didn’t speak out of curiosity, wanting to see what Dia would do next if Hanamaru just let her continue.

 

The silence grew less “wait-and-see” and more poisonous as the seconds passed.

* * *

Dia was a cruel master.

 

Hanamaru wasn’t sure if she was hearing correctly at first; the headboard of her bed (the beautiful bed that Dia had gotten her, because she cared for her, because she loved her and was such a nice master) was smacking the wall so loudly that Hanamaru couldn’t tell. But then, she was sure. She heard raspy chuckles, each time she sobbed. Dia  _ wanted _ to hear her suffer. Maru looked up, and even in the dim light of the moon, she was able to see the crooked, horny grin on Dia’s face as she took what she wanted, over and over and over again.

 

The thrusts were slow, hard and blunt. Hanamaru knew she was going to be sore the next day, with the way Dia was pounding her so brutally. Maru could do nothing but whimper wordlessly, having her breath taken from her with each jerk of Dia’s hips.

 

“Real close,” Dia growled, speeding up just a tad.

 

However, even that slight increase made Hanamaru tremble with fear. “Please, not inside, I-I-”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Please...I don’t want that...anything but that...”

 

Dia let out a breathy sound. Hanamaru didn’t know if it was an exhausted chuckle or an irritated sigh. It didn’t matter. Dia pulled out of her with a cringe-worthy “schlick”, and Hanamaru laid there, broken, trying to collect her pieces in an attempt to put them back together.

 

However, she had no time. Dia was pushing her legs back even more, then grunting and flipping her over, lifting her hips and spreading apart her legs and _not there, not there, it won't fit,_ and then pain pain pain-

 

“Why are you screaming?” Was she screaming? Was she? Was she even there, at all? Hanamaru wished she wasn’t. Even if she had to be there, with Dia’s nails in her hips and blood on her own sheets, she wished she was so fucking  _ numb _ that she wasn’t really there. “Why are you screaming, when you said  _ anything _ but that?”

 

Hanamaru collapsed into tears, sobbing and pleading for everything and nothing at all as Dia yanked down the front of her maid costume (the one that looked  _ so _ good on her) and exposed her breasts, groping them as she pleased. Within seconds, Dia was finished, shuddering and exhaling her sweet wine breath all over Maru’s blushed teary face, then pulling out and flopping over onto Maru’s bed, the bed that Hanamaru would never be able to sleep in again without the plague of nightmares.

* * *

Dia was a generous master.

 

After all, why else would she volunteer to wash those bloody sheets?

 

Or, maybe, she did it because she was tired of seeing Hanamaru burst into tears at the basin.

 

But, why would she raise Hanamaru’s pay? Why would she buy Hanamaru all the books she could ever want? Why would she move Hanamaru into a bigger bedroom and buy her a bigger bed and buy her her favorite treats?

 

Hanamaru wanted to believe.

* * *

Dia was a controlling master.

 

“Quit? What do you want to  _ quit _ for?”

 

“I just think there are better opportunities for me, zura,” Maru said quite simply. 

 

She held out a tray of crackers and cheese for the working Dia, who angrily swatted it away. Maru somehow managed to maintain her grip on it, but her hold on reality was quickly slipping away from her. “I don’t understand. You said you’d cry if I left. You said that you...that you loved me.”

 

“I care about you, a lot-”

 

“But that’s not what you said. You know what? It doesn’t matter. No. I decline your request to retire. I know what’s good for you, Hanamaru. Come back to me in a month if you feel the same way...but I doubt you will.”

 

Hanamaru pointed her eyes to the floor, letting gravity yank her tears from her bloodshot eyes and pull them to the floor.

* * *

Dia was a loving master.

 

She never stopped climbing into Maru’s bed at night, after that first time. However, things changed. There were no more bloody sheets, no more tears, no more sickly sweet wine smells burning Hanamaru’s very soul. Instead, there were loving touches, warm morning-afters, and kisses that made Hanamaru dizzy.

 

So, yes, Dia was a loving master. What else was Hanamaru supposed to think?

* * *

Dia was a scared master.

 

Hanamaru had never seen her cry in such a way before, sobbing and shaking and twitching and sniffling. It was all so new, but somewhat...humbling. Despite the comfort of seeing Dia at her weakest point, Hanamaru was still quite apprehensive. Dia had just finished and had collapsed atop her, crying and shaking terribly.

 

“You can’t leave. You can’t leave! Everybody leaves, and I-I’m so tired of being alone,” she choked out, digging her nails into Maru’s shoulders. “Stay. Stay. Stay and don’t hate me. No, even if you do...just stay with me.”

 

“I’ll never be the one to leave, zura.”

 

Hanamaru had never told a lie, and she never would.

* * *

Dia was a nice master. That was why Hanamaru couldn’t let her go on the way she was, tormenting herself in a cycle of abuse and self-loathing. At least, that’s what Hanamaru thought. Maybe she didn’t feel bad about what she had done, what she was doing, at all. Maybe the tears and the loveliness and the guilt was all a fabrication, an elaborate ruse to keep Hanamaru by her side. 

 

But then again, if Dia was that desperate to keep Hanamaru by her side, then she was sick in the head either way.

 

Dia was slowly killing herself from the inside out. It was hard to watch. Hanamaru began to question if the feelings she called love were ever really love in the first place, rather than pity and empathy that morphed into giving all of the energy she could to fix whatever was broken. Even as she watched Dia sip her morning tea, eyes droopy with sleep and blank, Hanamaru questioned it all. It was much too late for second thoughts, she realized, as Dia gagged and slumped over the table; it was much too late to regret or to fix anything. She was broken. Dia was broken. The air around them was all-too similar to death, in a way; thick, binding...permanent.

 

Hanamaru backed away slowly. The air was becoming stale, then; stiff. Dia did not move an inch, and Hanamaru didn’t expect her to. She felt like her throat was being squeezed, like she was being choked. Soon, the slow backing away turned into a full-out run. The frills on that stupid maid outfit flounced around her as she stumbled towards the front door, jiggling the knob with a shaky hand. She swung it open, and the morning daylight washed across her skin, bathing her in freedom.

 

It felt like she could breathe again.


End file.
